


your hand is in my own (as long as you leave it there)

by starrydrowse



Series: DL bingo 2020 [2]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Eating Disorders, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, John-centric, M/M, Multi, do not read this if you think it might trigger you !! please !!, ending is hopeful but i wouldn't quite call it happy, graphic descriptions of eating disorders, read the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26282386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrydrowse/pseuds/starrydrowse
Summary: “What if he never gets better?”Brian doesn’t know what to say to that. He thinks for a long moment, trying to fish any coherent thoughts out from somewhere inside the deep, aching sadness that’s swallowing him up inside. He wants to reassure Roger— and himself— he wants to say firmly“he will,”and have that be the end of the discussion. He can’t.“I don’t know,” he answers finally, honestly.It seems to be what Roger was expecting. And then,“I don’t want to lose him, Bri.”
Relationships: John Deacon/Brian May/Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Series: DL bingo 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896499
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36
Collections: Dork Lovers Server Challenges





	your hand is in my own (as long as you leave it there)

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE READ THE TAGS. this includes some rather graphic descriptions of eating disorders (anorexia to be specific) and hospitalization, i am literally begging you to please not read this if you think there's any chance that it might trigger you. please stay safe !!
> 
> that being said, i wrote this because i was feeling emo about my own ED and i needed to project :^) it was inspired very, very loosely by the prompt "comfort food." this fic was entirely informed by my own experiences, so please don't come for me fhskjhfkj
> 
> title is taken from the book letters to milena, a collection of letters written by franz kafka to milena jesenská
> 
> please read the end notes for some more notes on the fic <3

John has been staring at the brownie on the table in front of him for almost 20 minutes now.

Brian had baked it himself. It’s a small and rather unassuming thing; a brown chocolatey square set in the centre of one of the dessert plates given to them by Roger’s mum when they’d first moved into the new flat together. Brian used to make these for John all the time, back before all of this started; they were John’s favourite comfort food back then. He would beg Brian to make them any time he had a big test to study for, or when he was feeling anxious about one of their more high profile gigs coming up, or just whenever he was feeling rather sad and needed a bit of a pick-me-up. Of course, it never took much convincing for Brian to give in; he loves to bake, and he loves baking for the people he loves even more.

Which is why it hurt rather a lot when, out of the blue, John began declining Brian’s offers to make them, and stopped asking for them altogether. Brian even made them as a surprise once, to celebrate the day John sat his last exam for his engineering degree, and John wouldn’t even touch the things. 

Of course, Brian understands now. Now it just hurts in a different way.

John blinks down at the brownie now, his shoulders drawn tight and his hands in fists in his lap, his nails digging into his palms hard enough to leave marks. His breaths are coming slow and shaky, like he’s trying his best to breathe evenly but can’t quite manage it. The fear and anxiety in his eyes is enough to make Brian’s chest ache painfully.

It’s all enough to make Brian’s chest ache, really. He still can’t get used to seeing John looking like this. He’s still so thin— _gaunt,_ even— and every edge of him looks hardened and sharp, his skin pale and drawn, like it’s stretched too tightly over his bones. The circles under his eyes are dark and constant; no matter how many over-the-counter sleeping pills Roger makes him try or how many cups of herbal tea Freddie brews him before bed, he just can’t seem to sleep properly. He’s dressed in his too-big pants and his oversized jumper, just like he always is, because he refuses to wear anything that might show his body. Sometimes Brian finds himself feeling thankful for that in some sick, selfish way. 

When John wears baggy clothes, Brian can almost— _almost_ — convince himself that John is fine. As long as he doesn’t let himself see how sharp John’s cheekbones have become, how dull and sunken his eyes look and how thin his beautiful, long hair has become, Brian can almost convince himself that John is still healthy— that he’s himself again, that all of this was just a horrible, horrible nightmare. 

But then he’ll look up and get hit in the chest with just how sickly John looks even now, three months into his treatment— he’ll feel the sharp jut of John’s ribs under his hands when he pulls him closer while they’re half asleep in bed, or he’ll catch a glimpse of John changing with the door slightly ajar and realize that he can count every notch of John’s spine. And the illusion is shattered.

The first time Brian had seen John like this, a few weeks before everything had finally come to a head, he’d thought he was going to be sick. John had been withdrawing from the three of them for some time; he’d begun shying away when they tried to initiate anything with him, eventually refusing to let them touch him at all, before eventually progressing to refusing to let his boyfriends see him naked, period. He would make them leave the room when he needed to get changed, make excuses to avoid joining any of them in the shower, and claim to be too tired whenever any of them tried to start anything in the bedroom.

At first, the three of them had thought John was just going through a shy phase— that he was just feeling insecure— but no matter how many times they’d tried to convince him that they love his body, that they all think he’s ridiculously beautiful and sexy, nothing worked. So they just did their best to respect his boundaries, thinking maybe John just wasn’t as interested in sex and physical affection than he once was. None of them had even an inkling of what he was going through.

By the time they finally started to realize what was going on, John was in so deep that they didn’t have any idea where to even begin trying to help him. He would skip meals, claiming he’d eaten at the university, or that he simply wasn’t hungry. When he did eat, he was obsessive about calories, measuring out his food meticulously and brushing off his boyfriends’ concerns with explanations that he was _‘just trying to get fit.’ _Every rebuttal telling John that he was _already_ fit and healthy seemed to fall on deaf ears. __

__One day, frustrated and scared, Roger had asked John outright if he was starving himself._ _

__John had lied straight to his face._ _

__He’d kissed Roger, gently, and reassured him that he was fine. That he was perfectly healthy, and happy. That none of them had anything to worry about._ _

__And then Brian had accidentally walked in on John changing._ _

__He’d forgotten to lock the door to the bedroom, and Brian didn’t even think twice before walking straight in. And he didn’t mean to look, but he _did._ He got a good look at John for the first time in months and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from how his boyfriend’s sharp ribs, the jut of his hipbones, the shocking thinness of his arms and his legs. Brian hadn’t had any choice but to turn on his heel and rush out of the room as quickly as his shaking limbs would carry him, before he burst into tears and crumbled in on himself right there in front of John in the doorway of their bedroom._ _

__He managed to make it up to the roof before he broke down. He’d curled into himself and sobbed and sobbed until he was retching, positive he was going to be sick at the image of his lovely, beautiful boyfriend looking so shockingly, heartbreakingly ill that was now burned into his brain for all eternity. The guilt he felt was unbearable; he should have known— he’s fairly certain he _did_ know, just didn’t want to believe— and now John looked like he was one strong gust of wind away from snapping in two and it was _his_ fault. It was all of their fault, him and Roger and Freddie, because none of them had done a single thing to help him._ _

__But even after Brian told Roger and Freddie that night, and even after they sat down with John to try and talk it through and get some answers, John refused to admit it. He insisted that he was fine. He said it again and again and again, day in and day out; soft, reassuring whispers of _“I’m fine, I’m alright. Everything is okay, I promise,”_ until the day he passed out at rehearsal. _ _

__They’d waited at A &E for hours, despite John’s claims that he was fine now that he’d come to— that he’d only stood up too quickly, or maybe he hadn’t had enough to drink. It was only after John was grilled by a woman in a white coat who’d rattled off an endless list of stats about his heart rate, his blood pressure, his EKG and his body temperature and his blood-work that John finally admitted what they all knew already, but desperately didn’t want to believe._ _

__He wasn’t eating._ _

__Most of what was said after that was lost to the ringing in Brian’s ears. The hum of the fluorescent lighting overhead was deafening, the white of the walls and the floors and the ceilings unbearably bright, and Brian had to fight down the urge to be sick when the woman handed each of them a pamphlet titled _“Treatment Options for Adults with Eating Disorders.”__ _

__It took almost a full week, but after much begging and pleading, and countless breakdowns from all four of them, John finally agreed to consent to treatment._ _

__The two months John spent in that inpatient facility were the longest of Brian’s life._ _

__The first few weeks John spent there were some of the hardest on John; being on bed rest to conserve his energy while going through the refeeding process, slowly working up to taking three meals and snacks a day as his treatment team tried to get his weight up. Those weeks were the hardest to watch, too, for Brian and Roger and Freddie; watching John cry his way through meals and have panic attacks whenever he was expected to eat anything he deemed too fattening and seeing their love with a feeding tube down his nose when it was decided that he wasn’t stabilizing fast enough. They would each take turns going in to sit by his bedside during visiting hours to play games with him and keep him company._ _

__Eventually John had graduated to being allowed to leave his room in the wheelchair to be wheeled around the unit, and then to being allowed to walk around on his own. He kept progressing, getting good reports from the doctor and the nutritionist and the psychologist, and finally, after two long months, he was allowed to go home._ _

__He’s been home with them for a month now and his treatment isn’t even close to over; he still has a revolving door of appointments every week to make sure he’s staying on track, and Freddie and Brian and Roger all have a comprehensive set of rules they have to make sure he follows surrounding mealtimes and exercising and calorie counting and weighing and the list goes on and on. But at least he’s _home._ At least the flat doesn’t feel so eerily empty all the time anymore, at least Brian gets to walk into the living room on Sunday afternoons and see John curled up on the sofa with a book just like he always used to be, reminding him that John is okay, that he’s alive and that he’s safe._ _

__The catch, of course, is that in order to stay home, out of inpatient treatment, John needs to keep getting better. He has to keep putting on weight, stay medically stable, and be compliant with that long list of rules, and one of the many items on that list is that John has to keep challenging himself to confront his fear foods. Every week when he meets with his nutritionist, they pick one of the fear foods from John’s long, long list of them, and by the time he goes back to see her the next week he needs to have challenged himself to have eaten it at least once._ _

__Which is why John has been locked into an epic stare-down with a chocolate brownie for the last twenty minutes. Brian and Roger and Freddie each have brownies in front of them, too, but they’ve been waiting for John to start eating his before they eat, knowing that John doesn’t like to be the only one eating._ _

__John swallows thickly as he stares at the thing, before he exhales shakily. Brian wishes desperately that he could know what’s going on in John’s head. John looks utterly _terrified_ over this one small chocolate brownie, and all Brian wants is to understand. He wants to know how John feels, so he can know the right thing to say, but he _doesn’t,_ and it’s tearing him up inside._ _

__John’s lower lip is quivering, and he hastily wipes away a tear rolling down his cheek. Brian exchanges a worried look with Freddie from across the table. He glances over at the clock. It’s been nearly twenty two minutes now since Roger had taken the brownies out after dinner and set one down in front of John. According to the instructions they’d been given, after half an hour they’re supposed to take the fear food away and just try again the next day, but Brian really doesn’t want to have to do that. He wants John to be able to do this._ _

__He’s been making conversation with Roger and Freddie, trying to keep the atmosphere light and normal so that John doesn’t feel like he’s in the spotlight, but they’ve been quiet for a few minutes now, all thinking the same as Brian. Finally, John lets out a quiet, pitiful sob, and they can’t ignore it any longer._ _

__“John…”_ _

__John shakes his head, still staring at the plate._ _

__“Deaky,” Freddie tries again. “You can do it darling.”_ _

__“I don’t want it.”_ _

__“I know,” Freddie soothes. “I know it’s hard. But you have to try.”_ _

__“No I don’t.”_ _

__“You do if you want to stay out of hospital,” Roger mutters._ _

__“Roger,” Freddie says sharply, at the same time Brian gives him a horrified look._ _

__They all know that Roger’s fear has a tendency to manifest itself as anger and frustration, and he’s been trying to get better at controlling it. He’s trying his best— they all are, Brian has to remind himself— but still, anger is the last thing John needs right now. Even that small outburst has tears falling down John’s face faster, his lips pressed together like he’s trying to stop himself from completely dissolving._ _

__“I’m sorry Deaky,” Roger says quickly. “I didn’t… shit. I’m sorry.”_ _

__John nods, and Brian squeezes his knee under the table in a gesture that he hopes is comforting._ _

__“Can you talk to us love?” he asks gently. “Tell us what you’re thinking.”_ _

__“I don’t—” John shakes his head again, opening and closing his mouth like he’s trying to find the words to say. “I c-can’t. I just… I don’t want to be f-fat.”_ _

__He spits the word out like it’s poison, and it makes Brian feel like he’s about to break down in tears himself, but he steels himself and presses on._ _

__“You aren’t fat, Deaky,” he tells him for the millionth time._ _

__Not that there would be anything wrong with him if he was fat— a conversation that will need to at some point, but not yet— but he _isn’t._ John is still thin by anyone’s standards, _too thin;_ better than he was when he started treatment, but still scarily skinny, and once again Brian finds himself desperately wishing that he could take a look inside John’s head to understand what he’s feeling and the way he sees himself. Brian knows the eating disorder isn’t rational, the doctors had told them that time and time again, but Brian still can’t wrap his head around how John could see himself so drastically differently than everybody else sees him, or why he thinks eating one brownie will cause him to balloon in weight, or why the thought of that is enough to send him spiralling in anxiety._ _

__“Yes, I am,” John says weakly. “I’m— I’m _disgusting._ Shit. _Shit.”_ He scrubs his hands over his face harshly, like he’s angry at the tears for falling. “Damn it,” he whispers, his voice so soft it’s barely audible. His hands are shaking trembling violently, and he runs them quickly through his hair, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it. It doesn’t seem to work though; a moment later his face crumples and he clasps his hand over his mouth to muffle a sob as his shoulders start to shake. _ _

__Brian exchanges a resigned look with Freddie, both of them having the same thought._ _

__It must be one of those nights where the disordered voice in John’s head is just too strong to ignore. It happens sometimes, and dinner that night had been a bit of a challenge for John to get through itself, so really Brian isn’t entirely surprised. He can’t help but feel horribly disappointed, though. He knows nights like this are going to happen; he knows recovery isn’t linear, that more often than not it’s two steps forward one step back, but as much as he knows it logically and no matter how many times he reminds himself, it doesn’t change the fact that every time John can’t get through a meal or can’t bring himself to challenge a fear food it fills Brian with a sense of dread and fear so deep that he can feel in his toes._ _

__He’s so afraid, all the time. He’s afraid that John isn’t going to get better, he’s afraid that John will be the one in ten that can’t beat this thing and ends up dead. He’s afraid that even if John doesn’t end up dead he’ll stay this way forever, hating himself with every fibre of his being, every bite of every meal an uphill battle. He’s afraid that John will never be the way he was again; that he’ll never come back to them._ _

__Brian swallows past the lump in his throat. Now isn’t the time to break down._ _

__He lays a hand on John’s upper back between his shoulder blades, rubbing slow circles there as he murmurs soft words that he hopes are comforting. It’s only two minutes now until the half hour is up, they all know there’s no point in dragging it out. Tonight just isn’t the night._ _

__Brian looks back at Freddie and gives a minute shake of his head. Freddie grimaces, but he stands up from the table and begins to gather their plates._ _

__It only makes John cry harder._ _

__The guilt comes no matter what the outcome, Brian has found. The nights John manages to overcome the fear, there’s always an overwhelming guilt that always comes after for feeling like he’s failed, like he’s done something shameful and wrong by eating. But even on nights like this when he doesn’t succeed, the guilt John feels still seems almost unbearable, the more rational but equally self-critical part of his brain kicking in to remind him, rather unhelpfully, that he’s failed, that he’s disappointed everybody rooting for him to get better._ _

__“I know,” Brian murmurs, shifting closer in his seat to pull John against him as Freddie takes the plates away. “It’s alright, love. We’ll just try again tomorrow.”_ _

__There’s a sudden sound of Roger’s chair scraping against the floor as he pushes it back from the table and rushes out of the room. Brian watches him go with a frown as he rubs John’s back, letting him bury his face in his neck._ _

__It doesn’t take John very long to cry himself out. By the time Freddie has the brownies put away and set the dishes in the sink to be washed later, John has lifted his head out of Brian’s neck and is roughly scrubbing his hands over his face. Brian keeps his hand resting on John’s back, swallowing down the painful lump in his throat as John lets out a shaky breath and says quietly,_ _

__“I’m sorry.”_ _

__“You have nothing to apologize for,” Freddie says firmly, before Brian even has a chance to speak. He tosses the dishtowel he’s holding down onto the countertop, coming over to wrap an arm around John’s shoulders. “Tomorrow is a new day.”_ _

__John nods. After a moment, he turns to look at Brian, who gives him as reassuring a smile as he can muster._ _

__“Fred’s right, Deaky,” he says, his voice gentle and carefully controlled, “and we’re proud of you no matter what, yeah? Don’t forget that.”_ _

__John manages a small, wobbly smile, and Brian can feel himself beginning to crack._ _

__Freddie squeezes John’s shoulder. “We know you’re doing the best you can, darling,” he adds, bending to press a kiss to John’s forehead._ _

__To Brian’s overwhelming relief, it seems to draw a genuine smile out of John; a small one, albeit, but a genuine smile none-the-less. It plays on his lips as he closes his eyes and basks in the feeling of Freddie’s warm lips on his forehead. Freddie returns his smile when he pulls back._ _

__“So, what shall we play tonight?” Freddie asks then. The subject change is a little clunky, but it still sends a wave of relief over not only John but Brian as well, who at this point feels like he’s holding himself together by a thread. “Scrabble? Monopoly?” Freddie prompts._ _

__“It doesn’t matter,” John shrugs. “Whichever you prefer.”_ _

__“Scrabble then,” Freddie says decisively._ _

__“That sounds good.”_ _

__John gives Freddie another small smile as he stands to follow him out to the living room. As put out as John acts about their after-dinner routine sometimes— his therapist had suggested that he find something to do with the boys after supper rather than being alone, as a means of distraction from the army of intrusive thoughts that tend to take up occupancy inside his head following mealtimes— they can tell that he appreciates the nonchalance with which they treat it. It’s simply become a routine to play games after dinner every night, treated as something they just do to spend time with one another rather than something mandated by John’s treatment team._ _

__“I’ll go find Rog,” Brian mumbles, pushing his chair back from the table._ _

___Pull yourself together, Brian,_ he thinks frustratedly as he makes his way down the hall._ _

__He just needs a moment. Just a moment away from it all so he can gather his thoughts and calm himself down, and then he can walk back out there and be strong a smile on his face. He needs to be strong, for John._ _

__When he gets to the bedroom he finds Roger seating on the edge of the bed, just like he expected. He’s bent over with his head in his hands, though when he hears the door open he quickly straightens up, looking over with wide eyes and tear tracks down his face. When he sees it’s just Brian, his shoulders relax and he slumps over again with a sigh, running his hands through his already unruly hair._ _

__Brian sits beside him on the bed quietly, and barely a moment passes before Roger leans into his side and exhales shakily, letting Brian wrap an arm around his shoulders. They don’t say anything, at first; they don’t need to. Brian feels hot tears falling down his cheeks, and this time he doesn’t do anything to stop them. Roger takes his hand in his and squeezes tightly, stroking gently with his thumb as Brian’s shoulders shake. They sit there in their darkened bedroom holding one another, until Brian feels less like he’s in danger of falling apart at the seams._ _

__Finally, Roger’s voice breaks the silence, sounding uncharacteristically small._ _

__“What if he never gets better?”_ _

__Brian doesn’t know what to say to that. He thinks for a long moment, trying to fish any coherent thoughts out from somewhere inside the deep, aching sadness that’s swallowing him up inside. He wants to reassure Roger— and himself— he wants to say firmly _“he will,”_ and have that be the end of the discussion. He can’t._ _

__“I don’t know,” he answers finally, honestly._ _

__It seems to be what Roger was expecting. And then,_ _

__“I don’t want to lose him, Bri.”_ _

__Roger sounds scared, in a way he so rarely does, and it makes Brian feel utterly cold inside. He swallows. He doesn’t want to think about this. He can’t think about this, not right now. Not when he’s barely holding himself together as it is. No, that thought is getting shoved down as deep down as it will go, locked away in a corner of Brian’s mind where he never has to think about it again. John is getting better, as of now, Brian reminds himself. He’s doing better than he was, and yes he still has miles yet to go, but it’s _something._ He’s _fighting.__ _

__“He’s trying,” Brian finally settles on. “He… He doesn’t always succeed, and I know that’s scary, but… he’s fighting, Rog. That counts for something. Unless that’s ever not the case anymore, I don’t think we have to worry about losing him like that.”_ _

__Roger is quiet then, but he squeezes Brian’s hand gently, before lifting it to his lips to press a kiss to his knuckles._ _

__“They’re waiting for us out there,” Brian says finally_ _

__Roger nods, sitting up and scrubbing at his face with a sigh. Just as they stand, Roger steps in close and wraps his arms tightly around Brian’s waist in a hug. Brian relaxes into it, laying his head on top of Roger’s, closing his eyes and breathing him in._ _

__“I think…” Roger says quietly after a long moment, “I think he’s gonna be okay,”_ _

__It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to convince Brian, but it soothes the raw, terrified ache inside Brian’s chest all the same._ _

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to leave your thoughts and comments below, and come talk to me on my [tumblr](https://starrydrowse.tumblr.com/) :)
> 
> EDIT: alright folks, since it apparently wasn't clear from what i said above, allow me to clear some things up
> 
> 1\. i literally have an eating disorder lmao. i've been in treatment for the last seven years. this isn't some random person who's never experienced an eating disorder writing a fic about something they know nothing about. this fic was written entirely with my own experiences in mind, because i was sad and i wanted to self-project, because a lot of the time thats what fanfiction is for !!
> 
> 2\. yes, this is incredibly self-indulgent. most of what i write, and tbh most of what other people write, is self-indulgent. it's _fanfiction_ my dudes. it isn't real.
> 
> 3\. this fic isn't about freddie, so stop bringing him up in the comments. it's never been confirmed that freddie had an ED, and you can speculate all you want, but _none of us actually knew him,_ something i think a lot of you tend to forget. any comments claiming that freddie had an ED will be deleted because tbh i think it's pretty disrespectful to act as if you knew him like that. even if he did, that wouldn't mean i can't write a _fictional story_ about _john_ lmao. and honestly, i'm just incredibly tired of you people coming into my comments on fics that aren't even about freddie just to start discourse about him.
> 
> 4\. everything is tagged. i stated multiple times to read the tags and adhere to my warnings. if you didn't do that, that's not on me.
> 
> thank you for reading, and i hope you enjoyed <3


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